The days that followed held a few more accomplishments that were worth celebrating. So last night, to commemorate a great week, I made myself a whole load of roast potatoes.

Tucci and Blunt are an inspiring couple. Together they have brought me great joy. He has brought to me one of my favourite films, and she has helped publish my favourite book. They have provided a combined MILLION PERCENT joy to my life, and for that I applaud them. Greatly inspiring in particular is their culinary rivalry. Potatoes versus Potatoes.

Stanley makes them the “mainland European way” it seems. Peel and quarter, no pre-cooking, pop in the oven with your national herbs and spices (Italians have olive oil, garlic, and rosemary or oregano) and wait a ghastly amount of time. Felicity makes them what I would call the “transatlantic way”. They’re definitely British, with that sort of hearty Sunday roast feel to them, but in a weirdly old American style which always includes some level of frying.  She pre-boils them for no more than 5 minutes, bashes them about before turning them in a prepared dish of oven-hot oil, letting them fry a second on the hob on low, then popped them right back into the oven in their oily bath.

My mother’s potatoes land somewhere in the middle, as all mothers potatoes should – they’re the quickest for screaming children who have been smelling dinner being prepared for the past 5 hours and are demanding the food be ready instantly. Pre-boil for 10/15 then oven in a well-oiled dish with spices for until perfectly done.

In terms of roasted potatoes there aren’t a million options. You could roast in butter, although that may be overkill. If you’re truly looking for a dairy decadence, fresh market-bought butter on top of your already roast potatoes is the real answer.

Here’s my verdict. Stanley calls for an HOUR AND A HALF in the oven. I hated the wait. Completely. And they came out quite brown. Felicity’s recipe was more exciting – granted, they were more complicated with more dishes – but they were FAR more beautiful.

In terms of looks, I was expecting Felicity to “sinch the win” (as my friend Clem would say – usually referring to Mario Kart races, but it’ll do here too). But I underestimated Stanley. Everyone always does. There is no overestimation of Stanley. I kid. But they were absolutely perfect. Deep brown, yes, but gosh such a crispy outside that popped in my mouth and inside just warm and creamy, and with a gorgeously smoky oregano aftertaste.

Felicity’s were simply YUM. Kids food. Unhealthy but UGH so yum. That’s the best way to describe it. They tasted like if the oven and the deep-frier had a child with perfect plump skin and good grades.

They’re just different. Which is just an awful conclusion to come to but there you have it. If you’re looking for a rustic old wood type feel – Tucci’s are worth the wait. If it’s Christmas or you’re throwing a family party – Blunt all the way.

I see why both were included in the book.

Roast away lovelies,

Eve.